Scar Tissue
by Navie Chance
Summary: Oneshot. Jak takes some time to reflect how his time in Haven City has been.


"Scar Tissue" - a Jak II one-shot by Navie Chance (www.kuautli.com)  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or parts of Jak II. This game is (c) Sony Computer Entertainment America, Inc. Reproducing any parts of this story without the consent of the author is plagiarism. And that's not nice.  
  
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Scars.  
  
No matter who someone is or where they came from, they carry scars. Sometimes cris-crossing up arms and legs and twining around fingers and ribs. Sometimes within eyes or ears, carried in the sounds of words or the imprints of faces. The kind that twisted around the heart like thin copper wire, tightening and ever-present. Even the most innocent could hardly claim to be free of them.  
  
And he was anything but innocent.  
  
Jak trudged through the dimly lit halls of the Underground base, his feet dragging heavily. The sun would be rising in only a few hours, but he couldn't care less. In the time he had been awake he had seen many sunrises and sunsets, and he wasn't yearning to see another. They all looked the same now, the same pale yellow light struggling to make its way through the smog that blanketed the city, shining feebly on the grime that covered the streets.  
  
He was so tired. Jak tried numbly to recall what tired meant to him in his days in Sandover. He caught glimpses of memories of white sand and the smell of the ocean, soft lanterns glowing and fretting of the bird woman echoing in palm-covered cliffs. Racks of fresh fish and butterflies. Green grass. It was all so muddled in his mind now. Daxter snorted softly on his shoulder, dreaming.  
  
Jak had to smile a little. Daxter was still with him, still wisecracking, still reminding him what humor was. And he was grateful for him. Entering his room as quietly as his aching legs would allow, Jak crossed the room to his bed with plain gray sheets. He gently fluffed a pillow and scooped up Daxter, laying the sleeping Ottsel down to rest. The animal twitched his legs and settled down, making a noise akin to a purr. Jak took out his multipurpose gun and tucked it under the bed, then headed for the door. He couldn't stand to sleep as filthy as he was.  
  
The blue eco lights flickered as Jak made his way down a flight of stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. At least he could have a hot bath, one of the only luxuries this new world afforded him. Judging by how his footfalls echoed, he figured he was the only one up at this ungodly hour. Perhaps Samos was awake somewhere, plotting a way to save the city that threatened to crumble around them. Jak hoped so, anyway.  
  
A tall figure came around a corner, but Jak hardly noticed. He kept his gaze on the joint of the wall and the floor, letting it guide him in case his other senses decided to fail. A gruff voice barely registered.  
  
"Jak?" Torn said for the second time, gripping Jak's shoulder. "You alright?"  
  
"... What? Yeah... I'm fine."  
  
The rebel chieftain's gaze was piercing as usual. He looked Jak up and down, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "No offense," he said slowly, "But you look like shit."  
  
"Not surprised." Jak fought back a yawn. His eyes fixed momentarily on the scar that grazed Torn's left cheek.  
  
Conversations between the two were usually short and tense, and this was no exception. The strain was unexplainable, to a point. At first Jak had dismissed it as jealousy, assuming Torn was angry that Jak had been able to do in a week what he had tried for years to accomplish. But as it wore on, it seemed there was something more, layers upon layers of anger and sadness that, without outlet, had been left to ferment; and after years of toil, he simply didn't know any other way to live. Torn had never known the carefree childhood that Jak did, and the cruel truth was that was their only difference.  
  
"Jak, listen," Torn sounded slightly concerned. "It's going to be quiet for a few days, so just get some rest. I'd say you've been run over a few dozen times."  
  
Only nodding, Jak continued his route to the bath. He hadn't had time to look in a mirror in the last four days. Just how bad did he look? With a clank, a large steel door opened to a room covered in tile and grout that smelled of water and aloe. Jak made his way to the nearest mirror, wiping it clean with his glove. He would have gasped, had he the energy.  
  
His eyes were dull and red, lined with purple and black circles. His left eye held the healing remnants of a black eye, the skin yellowish-green. A relatively new cut on his forehead was red with infection, as was a group of similar marks on his neck. There was a notch about a quarter-inch taken out of the middle of his right ear, nearly fully healed. Jak reached up and touched the split in his bottom lip, still swollen and caked with blood.  
  
"I DO look like shit."  
  
Jak decided it might be best to turn off his brain for a bit while he ran hot water in one of the cold, industrial showers. It nearly burned to undress. Four days worth of sweat, dirt and blood made the cloth stick to his skin, pulling at hidden wounds and nearly tearing new ones. He threw his clothes in a heap, uncaring, and gazed at his arms. A long gash had made its way from the back of his hand to his elbow despite his armor. Jak laughed bitterly. 'At least Kiera didn't see me like this,' he thought.  
  
Jak stopped dead. An image of bright green eyes and shining hair formed behind his eyes, smiling gently. So much for turning off his brain. It was little more than a week since his childhood friend had revealed herself from behind the curtain in the garage, and Jak was still mentally kicking himself for not recognizing her voice. Perhaps it was because two years in a torture chamber had taught him that hopes are for the weak, and he had thus given up hope of ever hearing her call his name again. She really hadn't changed much, maybe grown an inch or so, and her lips were more red. But she was otherwise unchanged, still strong willed and free spirited.  
  
"And Jak! You look... different..."  
  
Her voice echoed in his head as he watched water run from his hair to the drain, nearly brown. Kiera may have meant to sound happy to see him, but it didn't come out that way. Instead she sounded shocked, almost scared to see him so... corrupted. She was afraid to touch him. Jak angrily snatched a bar of aloe soap and rubbed it through his tangled tresses, finding several hundred cuts on his scalp and neck in the process. He did his best to scrub himself over without disturbing any fresh wounds, and didn't stop until the water going to the drain finally ran clean and his skin stopped itching. At least his body felt better, the hot water soothing his muscles and the steam clearing his eyes and nose.  
  
Jak shut off the water and shook his hair. The ache in him had dulled a bit, and he felt confident he could at least make it to his room without passing out. Turning to the door, he stopped at the sight of his reflection in the opaque glass. It was something he didn't see often, and for good reason. His whole body was covered in scars, running up his legs and around his stomach, decorating his arms. These made no difference to him, save one. There, in the center of his chest, nearly glowing, was the greatest of scars, one that no amount of Green Eco could cure. A mass of skin that had turned black and nearly metallic. It had the same luster of a Dark Eco crystal, much like those in the spider cavern in his own time.  
  
He had watched it grow while imprisoned by the Baron, starting as a bruise and swelling to the size of his fist. He was sure there was an identical scar on his back in the same place. Strange how a machine armed with needles and spikes could do such damage without ever touching his flesh. But it was not the hardware, but the white-hot stream of energy that his nemesis has fused into his unwilling body nearly every day, causing Jak's mind to go blank with pain over and over again. Two years felt so long and so short all at once, for it all became a blur of torture laced with rage. He had sworn to kill Praxis, the one true enemy he had ever had in his life. But now, after witnessing the deterioration of an entire city and all of its people, Jak was more convinced than ever that the Baron had to die for his crimes - not to Jak, but to the thousands of citizens that spent their days living in fear.  
  
Wrapping a towel around his waist and clutching his heap of dirty clothes, the weary soldier made his way back upstairs. He decided he would take care of his things when he woke up, whenever that would be. Whatever it was, it could wait. Jak fished through his drawers for something comfortable to sleep in as Daxter drooled on his pillow. Satisfied with soft cotton shirt and pants, he crawled under his sheets, carefully moving his sidekick and the ruined pillow to the side.  
  
Jak turned over, hoping the slash on his forehead would heal without leaving another scar. He had too many to count, both inside and out. Perhaps the end of the war would bring the end of his suffering in sight. It was too much to ponder now, as he drifted away into a deep sleep that would last for days.  
  
-end- 


End file.
